Doubt and Hope
by Undomiel-Estel
Summary: On the eve before Arwen's wedding to Aragorn, her Elven heritage causes some to question her right to be a mortal king's queen, and soon after Arwen is tested by harrowing events.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I just play in their world.  
  
The sounds of drinking and laughter echoed loudly throughout the expansive courtyard. The white tree of Gondor, the symbol of Kings of old, stood gleaming in the night air, bright against the dark hue of the sky. Large ornate lanterns were mounted to the walls and hung overhead, curved and lightly swaying in the soft breeze, light spilling down over the guests in honeyed hues. Noted families throughout the city had been invited to the farewell banquet for the young Hobbits. Tomorrow they would leave Minas Tirith and return to the Shire, a home they had not seen in far too long. Tonight however, Frodo, Sam, Pippin, and Merry seemed content to feast and be joyous with friends they had not seen in far too long. They sat upon a dais on the Palace platform with Gandalf the white, laughing and toasting and watching the occasional drunkard stagger by.  
  
Aragorn, freshly crowned King of Gondor and Arnor, stood watching the festivities with amused eyes from his position beside the Hobbit's table. A full mug of ale occupied his hand, and beside him stood two men he had come to respect and admire over the course of the last few weeks. Eomer, rider from Rohan, drank heartily from his own mug and licked his lips in appreciation. For his part, Faramir, Prince of Ithilian and Steward of Gondor to the King, clapped along to the lively beat court musicians were banging out on weathered drums.  
  
Eomer emptied the contents of his stein quickly and slammed it upon the table with a solid hand. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, He smacked his lips and smiled at Aragorn, who wore a look of amused interest. Expanding his arms, Eomer laughed at the King's expression and exclaimed loudly: "Let it be said that no finer ale is brewed anywhere other then Gondor's fine taverns! My Lord, when I myself am owner to such a title as King, I shall be inclined to restore trade with Gondor simply so that I may part you from such fine mead."  
  
Aragorn laughed in appreciation, slapping the horseman on the back and signaling for another ale. A serving maid quickly appeared with another full mug, which Eomer quickly accepted and set about emptying.  
  
"Ay Eomer, son of Eomund. Perhaps I can be so generous as to have this fine mead sent regularly to the fine halls of Edoras, as a gift from one king to another." Aragorn laughed as Eomer belched loudly, causing a few noble ladies nearby to gasp and crinkle their pert little noses in disgust. Eomer winced at his errant folly and looked at his friend, who placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Or perhaps I would do better to send you goods that shan't cause the women of Rohan to turn away from their men."  
  
"Give it time, my friend. Soon your Elf bride will see what ungodly manners you rangers possess and find solace in the arms of this handsome......" and stretching his neck loud enough to project his voice to the retreating maids finished, "and CHARMING rider!"  
  
At this, Faramir guffawed outright at Eomer's claim, coming to join in the discussion and saying, "Lady Arwen tolerates all of Aragorn's faults, I am sure. She has the famed patience of Elves, but that does not extend to children. I'm sorry Eomer, but I do believe you'll have to make due with some mortal wench, and leave the Elf to the 'mannerless ranger'." King and Steward roared in laughter at Faramir's light hearted insult. Eomer grinned widely and wrapped an arm around his brother-in-law.  
  
"Keep speaking thus and you shall fit in grandly at our tables, Westman. My sister will have to introduce you to the lion's den that is Meduseld. Many a jest are lost on men without wit enough to bite back." Faramir smirked, and drifted away about from the heavy reek of drink wafting from Eomer. "I think, brother, that I shall handle myself with dignity and ability the likes of which you are unaccustomed", he said with a nod. The two men shook hands, and clinked the rims of their steins together in merriment before downing huge gulps.  
  
Turning to the table and it's inhabitants, Aragorn smiled as Pippin animatedly detailed a story about crop stealing from a fellow Hobbit farmer. Gandalf looked over the head of the excited Halfling and winked at Aragorn before looking back down at his companion. The King noticed Frodo, seated at the far end of the table, watching the scene before him with silent interest. The former ranger moved from his spot and came to stand beside Frodo. Failing to notice the arrival of the King, Frodo lifted his own glass to his lips and tentatively tasted the contents inside. Pursing his lips at the bitter taste, he started when a loud voice beside him assaulted his ears.  
  
"Is our ale too dark for your tastes, master Hobbit? Perhaps I can find you a juice of sort, or perhaps some water to dilute it's effects?" Frodo looked up at the man he knew as Strider, and smiled a small grin. "It is more bitter then I am used to, but our own ale in Hobbiton is also very sweet in comparison. It is not an unpleasant change, just one that requires a bit of experimentation with." Aragorn smiled, and placed a large hand upon the small shoulders of the Halfling. "I'm am pleased to see the four of you enjoying yourselves. It does my heart well to see such bonds of fellowship lasting after duty has been fulfilled. Friendships such as these are rare. I am glad that we could be together for such events."  
  
"It isn't everyday that Hobbits get to attend the wedding of a King, Aragorn. I suspect tomorrow we shall be grateful for your invitation." The King looked across the green to a congregation of Elves and , his bride Arwen engrossed in deep conversation with an attendant. "Master Hobbit, it was not an invitation. I expect to have my closest friends by my side on the day I wed, just as I suspect to attend the weddings and births of your future Hobbit children." Frodo laughed and twisted his head to gaze at his friends. Looking back to Aragorn, the Halfling smirked and raised his glass. "Ay, my Lord. I would have nothing less."  
  
The two exchanged warm glances, and Aragorn walked from the dais and down the stairs to immerse himself in the crowds. As he walked, heads bowed out of respect, and mugs were raised in toasts and pledges. His eyes searched through the enormous crowd, scanning the faces of those around him, looking to reach the gathered Elves of Rivendell. Finally he caught sight of a familiar face, and a pathway cleared in front of him as he approached the beautiful daughter of Elrond Half-Elven.  
  
She shone like a beacon in the dewy glow of the lanterns. Her pale pink gown, made of soft Elven silks, clung to her body whenever a slight breeze graced the courtyard. Her dark hair was gathered in a long plait down her back, entwined with pearls and small silver gems, a thin circlet of mithril wrapped through her hair, long tendrils of silver braid dangling down to grace her elegant shoulders. The tips of her pointed ears peeked through her curls, teasing Aragorn with their simple beauty. She was barefoot, like most of the Elves, choosing to feel the ebb and flow of the grass and nature beneath her feet as she walked. This was new territory, and she wished to acquaint herself with her new home.  
  
Her companion, a silvery blond with eyes that held ageless wisdom, smiled at Aragorn's approach, whispering into the ear of her Lady before walking away. Arwen turned to face the man she would tomorrow take as her husband, and blushed as he moved closer. She averted her eyes and curtsied as he came to stand in front of her, murmuring softly "My Lord. How fares thee this night?" Aragorn bowed in return and held out a hand for her to take. Eagerly, Arwen took his hand and looked into his eyes, grateful for his nearness simply because his gaze had the ability to weaken her knees such. Leaning into him, she placed a heated kiss on his lips, not caring who watched or felt such displays inappropriate. The King returned the kiss and wrapped his arms around the Elf, drawing her closer and relishing the kiss.  
  
The sounds of cheering and shouting came from the front of the yard, as Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli, and the Hobbits raised a toast to the King and his intended.  
  
Legolas cleared his throat, and a hush fell over the courtyard as people turned to listen to his address. "By the Valar, no two were ever more perfect for each other. Long years and promise have separated Aragorn King and the Evenstar of the Elves. Tonight we revel in celebration for four admirable Hobbits, but let us take a moment to salute our King and his bride!" The crowd acquiesced and cheered for the royal couple, and Aragorn raised a hand in appreciation and recognition.  
  
But before Aragorn could open his mouth in reply, a shrill voice rang through the din. "Let the King chose a mortal wife, and forsake his Elven whore! She seeks to seplant another race on the throne of man! Death to the Elf-witch!"  
  
Aragorn quickly turned furious eyes on the crowd, as a herd of Elvish guardians surrounded a red faced Arwen should she need protection. Elrond stood from his seat beside the White tree, and glared at those around him. Gandalf stood as well, his arms crossed across his chest, eyes watching the crowd with intense suspicion.  
  
Elrond strode purposefully through the crowd, entering the protective circle around Arwen. Wrapping his arms around his daughter, he shouted angrily: "Who dares to speak thus of my daughter?! Who has the audacity to insult their future queen? Speak now I say!"  
  
Quiet had spread through the crowd like disease, and eyes stood fixed on the ground as no one dared to answer. Aragorn growled in his throat, and spoke quietly to Faramir and Eomer, who had come to the defense of the queen. Inside the circle, Arwen clung to her father, her gaze focused at her lover's back.  
  
"I want this crowd searched. I wish to speak to the man who so openly challenges decisions of his King. Let it be known that anyone protecting his identity faces a charge of treason. I'll not have my bride threatened in such a way."  
  
Guards were dispersed throughout the gathered Gondorians. Turning back to the angered Elves, Aragorn took Arwen's hand, and nodding to her father escorted the two of them back towards the palace. Arwen kept her head down, not daring to look into the faces of her husband's people, fearful that she would see nothing but resentment and hatred for a Queen they considered unworthy. Moving past the banquet table, the three were joined by the rest of the fellowship and a slew of guards. Aragorn walked quickly through the halls, until finally he had reached a private drawing room. Opening the door, he motioned for Arwen to enter, and followed her in along with the rest of their companions.  
  
Arwen sat down on the windowsill, her gaze falling on the sights of the city below, alive with light and movement. Her father stood by her side, a hand on her shoulder and a hard look etched upon his furrowed brow. Legolas leaned against a white stone pillar, amusedly watching as Gimli attempted to sit in a chair a little too tall for his stout body to reach. Gandalf stood behind the Hobbits, and Aragorn paced the room, hands clasped behind his back, saying nothing.  
  
Finally Arwen spoke, her voice low and soft in the darkness of the room.  
  
"They hate me. It was plain as day in the voice of that man. They think me an unworthy choice for wife. They think I intend to bend your will to my own purpose, that I wish to put an Elf on the throne of Gondor and take the power from their mortal Kings of old and place it in my kin. They do not trust me, Estel."  
  
She looked up at her betrothed, her blue eyes filled with unshed tears and her full lips quivering. Aragorn knelt by her side, taking her hands in his and raising them to his lips, placing a gently kiss on the silky skin.  
  
"Love, let them say what they will. One cannot harness the will of the people and make all see the truth. All that matters is that you and I know the truth."  
  
Elrond cleared his throat and spoke. "The people are weary of such a Queen. They do not see the love you feel for each other; instead they see a mortal man forsaking his own kind for another. They do not see the goodness in Arwen's heart. They see her as a weakness the King cannot sake. They fear she will bring about the undoing of the line of Kings so long restricted to mankind."  
  
Gandalf shuffled closer to The Elf Lord, looking down at the anguish on Arwen's face as tears fell unheeded down her ivory cheeks. "Do not fret so, Lady Arwen. In time the truth will catch like fire to kindling. They will see your devotion to Aragorn, and when the knowledge of your own mortality is revealed, they will understand that any children resulting from your union will be more Man then Elf." He placed a comforting hand on her cheek, and Arwen closed her eyes and leaned into his palm. He stroked her skin and smiled gently. "Do not shed any more tears this night. Justice will be served for those who doubt you. I am sure Aragorn will not allow your virtue to go undefended."  
  
"Nay, Mithrandir. I shall see her honor restored before the rising of tomorrow's sun. Tomorrow I take to wife Arwen Undomiel, most beautiful of her people and most beloved of her father. I shall not have her heart rendered with such sadness and doubt." Aragorn smiled at Arwen, and she stood to wrap her arms around his waist. He held her tightly, and buried his face in her hair, inhaling her delicate fragrance. He could feel the tension in her slender frame, and his heart constricted with rage for those who had dared to hurt his wife.  
  
He kissed the tip of her ear, and looked over her shoulder to greet her father's gaze. Elrond's eyes were hard and cold, reveling his feelings for Aragorn's subjects. Arwen withdrew from her beloved's arms, and turned to her father.  
  
"I grow weary from all the excitement of this evening. Ada, I shall take leave now and retire for the night, so that I might find some rest before tomorrow. I should not like to be drained of energy on the day I wed. If you'll excuse me, I will say my farewells." The men in the room all nodded and bowed their heads, as Aragorn escorted Arwen to the doors. Opening them, he motioned for a guard to come forward, and ordered the man to venture with the Elf to her quarters and make sure she arrived safely and was well cared for.  
  
Before she left, Arwen placed a kiss on Aragorn's lips, and brushed the back of her hand down his cheek. He kissed her fingers and flicked the lobe of her ear before smiling and kissing her more deeply. Uncaring for the watching eyes, the lovers remained in each other's arms until a muffled cough broke the two apart. Amused, they turned smiling faces back upon the residents of the drawing room, all smiling and happy for their friends.  
  
Aragorn smiled and nodded to his intended, saying softly for only her ears, "Then to bed with you, Meleth-nin. I will not have an exhausted wife come tomorrow night!" He winked and delighted in the rosy stain that melted across her cheeks. She turned and glided down the hall, the train of her Elvish gown dragging effortlessly like water over stone.  
  
Turning to enter the room once more, he sighed and rested his gaze on the floor.  
  
"I'm entrusting her protection and happiness to you, Estel. Do not fail me. I will not harbor the thought of an unhappy daughter." Elrond admonished the King softly. "Show the people that she means well. I will not have them be distrustful of her when her heart is as pure as the morning sky."  
  
"I shall abide such thoughts either Lord Elrond. I will see to her contentment from this day forth, you have my word."  
  
Pippin spoke up then, drawing the watchful eyes of his Hobbit counterparts. "Lady Arwen will win them over. Everyone who encounters her falls in love. Look at Eomer! He just met her, and already he loves her!" The faces of all broke into wide smiles. Aragorn nodded his head wistfully.  
  
"From your mouth to the ears of the people, my small friend. In time they shall come to see what my heart has always known."  
  
With that, the King of Gondor sighed, and looked out from the window and prayed silently that such words would have effect. 


	2. Morning Mourning

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I just play in their world.  
  
Seeing as some of you were eager for a continuation, I thought I might further this particular story. Hope you enjoy.  
  
Chapter 2:  
  
The bright light of the sun shone mercilessly through the archway, glinting off the glass of the bay doors leading out onto the balcony. A hearty breeze ruffled the sheer curtains and brought with it the smell of roses and roasting food. Sounds of the ongoing preparations drifted into the quiet room to awaken the sleeping Elf within.  
  
Arwen opened her eyes and turned towards the window. Raising herself on her elbows, she sighed and rubbed the vestiges of sleep from her eyes. Looking about the room, she allowed her sleep fogged mind to clear before she pushed herself out of bed. Stretching, she noticed a platter of fruits and bread, no doubt brought in early this morning by one of Gondor's many palace servants. Walking across the large room, she picked her robe up from the foot of the canopy bed and wrapped it loosely around her shoulders. Selecting a sweet roll from the tray, she absentmindedly pulled pieces from the roll as she stepped out onto the balcony and into the morning sun.  
  
Allowing her eyes to adjust to the light, Arwen turned her gaze out onto the white city. Large towers spiraled up into the sky, and elegant houses and balconies were decorated for the day's event. She looked down at the palace's courtyard and gasped at the elaborate scene set for the wedding. The branches of the White Tree, symbol of the Kings of Gondor, were draped with garlands of freesia and elanor. A large canopied podium rested at the foot of the palace steps, embroidered with both the standard of Gondor and the emblem of the House of Elrond.  
  
The water in the fountain was littered with drifting rose petals, and tall banners, lined up along the walkway on the courtyard, drifted in the breeze coming from the river. Long banquet tables and the long empty thrones of the King and Queen had been carried out onto the courtyard, so that the ensuing feast could take place beneath the twinkling stars. Garlands of roses were attached to tall pillars, stretched out over the green like a ceiling, and the lanterns from last night's festivities remained intact, to again provide light for the evening's celebration.  
  
Arwen's throat tightened, and a hand crept to the base of her neck as her heart beat picked up momentum. She would wed this day. With the setting of the sun, she would become Queen of Gondor and Arnor, and wife to the one man she had loved above all others, and though today was a day both had waited on for much too long, Arwen's heart was heavy. The sights before her could not quell her belief that the people of Gondor were hesitant to embrace their new Queen. Last night's incident had affected her more then she cared to let on, but she could not fed Aragorn's concern for her. She did not want to let unknowing observers ruin her wedding, but she feared future hardships for her Elvish lineage.  
  
A sudden knock on the heavy wooden doors of her chambers startled Arwen, and turning on her heel she quickly made her way across the room to receive her visitor. Opening the door, she smiled as her grandmother and her attendant Uruviel greeted her with a mug of steaming tea. Bowing slightly, Arwen moved aside to let the two women into the room. Galadriel paused to kiss her granddaughter on the forehead as her handmaid placed the mug on a stone table.  
  
"It is a lovely day, Undomiel. Fit enough a day for marriage to a King, I dare say." The bright smile upon Galadriel's face hid her concern as her crystalline eyes bore deeply into Arwen's face, noting the clear blue depths and reservation kindled within. When Arwen failed to smile or nod in agreement, Galadriel asked softly, "You do not look well. What troubles your heart, little one?"  
  
Arwen turned and sat down upon a cushioned foot stool and sighed as Galadriel rested in the chair behind her, drawing her heavy hair from her shoulders and running her nimble fingers through the dark locks. Across the room, Uruviel draw a sash around the loose curtains, allowing a stronger breeze to float into the room. Galadriel rested her hands on Arwen's shoulders, gently willing her to speak the thoughts that troubled her mind. "Do not remain in doubt, Arwen. Some fears are best resolved when brought out into the light."  
  
Arwen looked down at her hands, folding neatly in her lap. "They hate me. They fear me. They see an Elf when I would be mortal as they are. They do not know of my choice or of my loss, or of my desire to be what they are for such a sort time. They cannot see me as anything more then a vestige of the past. The people of Gondor believe I will corrupt the Kingship with the establishment of Elvish rule." She tugged at the hem of her shift, fraying the fine silk and ripping tiny intricate stitches. "What will it take for them to see what Aragorn has known for so long?"  
  
"The world of Men has always feared that which they do not understand. You should not let their ignorance darken your love for their King. Keep that love in your heart and no shadow or doubt will ever cause you pain and trouble. In time these people of Gondor will see you as he does." Arwen smiled half-heartily, though a silent hope began echoing in her heart. "I pray you are right, grandmother." Galadriel smiled and bent to kiss the crown of her granddaughter's head. Arwen turned to face the regal Elf, and kissed the ring on her hand. The light in the room glinted off Galadriel's ring, and with a pang Arwen looked at the silver glow of the ring, noting it's fading light and knowing it's power was finally diminished. The power of the Elves was spent for this world, and it was time for the race of man to assume their vacancy.  
  
And it was time for Arwen to become one of them.  
  
She stood up and walked to the table, and wrapped her hands around the warm mug that rested on the smooth stone surface, lifting it to her lips and tasting the bitter tea inside. Uruviel joined her mistress and lady and laid upon the table a gown of pale blue. "Lady Arwen, it is time to begin preparing you for the ceremony." Arwen gently fingered the sheer fabric of her wedding robes, and looked back at the stein in her hand. Looking at Uruviel with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she handed the steaming mug back to the handmaiden and smiled nervously at her grandmother.  
  
"Perhaps, so that I might quell my anxious nerves, a fluke of wine would serve me better?"  
  
Galadriel laughed airily and Arwen closed her eyes, relishing the sound of the elder woman's joy, sighing as the wind picked up the clear sound and carried it from the room on a soft breeze. The Lady of Lothlorien gestured to her attendant, and nodded an ascent.  
  
"I believe my granddaughter has the right idea. Uruviel, please see to a bottle of wine from King Aragorn's wineries, so that these two maids might better greet this special day." 


	3. Burdens of The Noble Mind

Disclaimer: I don't own these charcters. I just play in their world.  
  
Chapter 3:  
  
Aragorn scanned the open expanse of the Pelennor fields, calm and quiet, it's grass bending and twisting with each gentle river breeze. Music and reveling could be heard from Osgiliath, as small firecrackers and brilliant bursts of sparkling color filled the twilight air with life.  
  
He had spent the day preparing for his wedding, meeting with well- wishers and enjoying a lazy meal with his friends. Despite the pleasant company and joking, good food, and abundant wine, the King's mind was weary. Walking alone in thought, he had come to stand along the low wall of the courtyard, silently watching the city bustle with revelers all trying to catch a glimpse of activity along the palace walls. The sudden appearance of the King overlooking his people drew loud cheers and shouts, and Aragorn waved to his people, smiling and nodding his head in recognition.  
  
With a final wave, Aragorn turned from the wall and sank to the ground, leaning against the rugged white stone of the banister and resting his arms on his bent knees. He looked up at the slowly emerging stars and ran a hand over his full dark beard. Various servants and palace attendants worked out the last little details to the scene besetting the courtyard. As they passed, they curtsied low to the King, though many wore a strange look on their face as they pondered why exactly the King would chose to sit on the ground instead of his throne a few short meters away.  
  
Absently watching their tireless working, Aragorn allowed his mind to drift. The inability of his soldiers to discover the identity of Arwen's criticizer bothered Aragorn more then he wanted to admit. It troubled him to realize that there were those who feared his bride, simply because she was Elf-kind. Before last night, he would have found it incomprehensible for anyone to distrust or dislike the elf princess. It was a rude awakening to learn otherwise. That his own people were apprehensive of such a gentle heart showed Aragorn that the race of Men was full of the flaws Elrond had always spoke of.  
  
He knew it had bothered Arwen. He had seen the hurt in her eyes as she had departed for bed. Despite the experiences her long life had garnered her, she was not accustomed to such outright hostility from anyone. In Rivendell her life had been peaceful, full of love and companionship from those she was most closely connected to. The harsh world of Men was still new to her, along with it's hardships and constant strife.  
  
Aragorn sighed as he reached into his tunic and pulled out a long stemmed pipe. Drawing from his pocket a small pouch of Hobbit weed he began to pack the crispy leaf bits into the bowl of the pipe. A undetected presence standing over him reminded him that he must not lose his ranger skill now that he was a king. Looking up he saw the tall frame of Elrond. Quickly rising to his feet, he bowed to the imposing Elf lord. Elrond raised a dark eyebrow, and a small smile curved the end of his mouth upwards.  
  
"In time Elessar you shall learn that as King you are not obligated to bow before anyone, be he man or Elf lord." Elrond smirked as Aragorn shifted beneath his seemingly stern gaze. The Elf motioned for Aragorn to continue packing his pipe, but Aragorn placed the piece upon the wall.  
  
"I bow out of respect for a man who raised me as a son when he needn't have. You deserve such an honor, my Lord. I may be King, but you are still a far wiser and better man than I."  
  
"You give credit where credit is not due, Estel. I doubted you and for that I am shamed. If it were not for Arwen's unwavering faith I might have abandoned you in those dark times. I was a fool. I can only hope that in time you will forgive the wrong I have done you." Elrond placed a hand on Aragorn's broad shoulder, his eyes dark with regret and shame. Aragorn lifted his own arm and rested it on the heavy velvet of Elrond's cloak. "There is nothing to forgive, Lord Elrond. I could never hold reservations against you. In truth it is I who must beg forgiveness of you."  
  
Quizzically Elrond eyed the King. Aragorn continued. "I must ask your forgiveness for a serious wrong I have inflicted upon your kin. The guilt I bare is in taking your daughter." Elrond sighed, and moved from Aragorn.  
  
"I cannot fault either of you for her choice. Like Luthien before her she will love a mortal and she will die for it. It pains my heart to accept that knowledge, but in her happiness with you I find solace." The Elf lord paced the worn stone walkway of the courtyard, before turning to look back at Aragorn. "She is most beloved of her people, Estel. Do not let the lessening of her life pass without the glory due her." He nodded towards the White city, and the crowds cheering below. "Show them the spirit that compelled your heart to resign itself to her. I want for them to accept her as you do. It cannot be forced, but it would ease the doubt weighing down this tired body."  
  
Aragorn nodded as he walked back towards the palace beside the Elf. "Ay, my lord. I shall do what I can. I have faith in these people. Their hearts are good. They will recognize Arwen's righteousness."  
  
Elrond smiled before wrapping an arm around Aragorn's shoulders. "Come, your Majesty. It is time to prepare you for your wedding." With that, the two men walked into the palace, away from the ongoing preparations. 


	4. Discontent

Disclaimer: I don't own these Characters. I just play in their world.

"This damned tunic is so tight about the neck I'm more likely to choke to death than be married!"

Aragorn pulled at the neckline of his wine colored tunic, the heavy velvet refusing to loosen its hold around his neck. He stretched for the hundredth time in five minutes, the dark metal of his armor glinting sharply in the fading light of the afternoon. The crown of Condor, majestic in its heavy wrought silver and gold, rested upon his brow, regal and imposing and powerful.

Elrond smiled softly as he watched his foster son pace about the small room, positioned high above the royal courtyard below so that the occupants within might peer out the closest window and view below the growing attendance of the first royal wedding in Gondor in a very long time. The Elf lord silently followed the King's every movement with a studied eye. He grinned privately as he recognized the nerves and giddy excitement in the younger man's steps and gestures. It was a dance, he remembered with a pang of bittersweet recollection, which he himself had executed on the day of his own wedding to his beloved Celebrian.

"Is it time yet? How much longer must a man wait?!" Aragorn glanced feverishly at the elegant time keep upon his desk. His eyes narrowing, he picked the small wooden box up and fingered its swaying pendulum. "Perhaps this time piece is slow…."

"Estel, please! Drink some wine. Your fretting is pushing the rest of us beyond the brink of sanity." Elrond moved across the room and placed his cool hand upon Aragorn's broad shoulder. He motioned to his twin sons Elladan and Elrohir, and immediately they set about pouring goblets of wine.

Aragorn smiled tightly. "A king does not fret; he merely ponders." He smiled a small smile of thanks as he accepted the silver chalice of wine, and downed the contents in one fell swoop before pouring himself another glass.

"By the Valar, I said 'drink some wine', not 'imbibe the entire decanter'." Elrond shook his head. "My son, I think you are far too nervous for a man about to be wed. You're going about this as if you were about to lay your head upon a chopping block."

Elrohir laughed. "Ada, is there a difference?" His twin joined the mirth and added his own chuckle to the blend as he clapped his brother on the back. Aragorn favored them with a sarcastic smirk and Elrond shook his head at his sons.

A knock on the door broke the playful mood and all heads turned to see Legolas and Faramir push threw the heavy wooden doors and enter the room. The blond elf smiled at his friend and the Steward dipped into a well-practiced bow with assured ease, acknowledging the Lord of Rivendell and his dark-haired children.

"Your Majesty, it is time for you to greet your guests and begin the ceremony." He motioned towards the door. Aragorn squared his shoulders and turned to Elrond.

"My Lord, I trust that you are set to check upon the lady before we begin?"

"I thought to do so, yes. I shall do that now, I think." He smiled sadly. "It would be wise to calm any wedding nerves she might be having. If she is anything like her mother, she will need a glass of wine herself." He retreated from the room, his two sons following and joking as they went. Aragorn watched their departure from the room and turned to his friends. He exhaled heavily before reaching for Anduril, which rested against the dark wood of his desk. He belted the sword around his waist, and looked to Legolas and Faramir for assurance.

"Well, do I look like a husband?"

Both sets of eyes immediately rose to set upon his crown, and the two exchanged amused glances. Faramir smiled as he nodded. "As much as one can, when one is King, I suppose." The three laughed.

"I will leave you now, and take my place with the Mirkwood delegation, if your Majesty will permit me." Legolas inclined his head to Aragorn, and the mortal nodded his head in acquiescence. With typical elvish illusiveness, he was gone before Faramir and Aragorn could farewell his departure. The two men stood mute, content in their silence, until Aragorn looked his Steward straight in the eye with a tense, almost angry seriousness the younger man knew no man should possess on the day he took a wife.

"You have seen to it, then?"

"To the best of my ability, Aragorn."

Aragorn shook his head as he paced back to the window, staring vacantly below at the assembled guests and guards. "I'll have no tricks or ill words against her. Not on this day." He turned back to address his friend. "I will not see her happiness spoiled over petty businesses and agendas. She is my chosen Queen. They must accept that." His grey eyes grew dark and feral, cloudy in his intent. Faramir noticed the immediate transition, and was thankful that he was not the focus of such obvious power and might and barely retrained will.

Arwen stepped lightly down the long cobbled pathway, the hem of her long gown trailing behind her as she walked. She appeared calm and cool, her head held high as befitting a lady of the last homely house, her pace slow and measured. She sparkled in her luminosity, and those who gazed upon her recognized her unparalleled beauty. Her chest rose in even breaths, her pale skin gleaming against the tightly laced bodice of her white wedding attire. To all she appeared collected, refined, but inside, her pulse beat widely in her veins and she feared her heart beat so ferociously all could hear the tremulous sound. Out of the corner of her eye she glanced nervously about her as she moved, taking in the smiling rosy faces of some and the stony faced facades of others.

Sheer iron will forced her to ignore heated glares and apathetic glances. She focused her sight on the man standing before her. She smiled as she took in his tailored regal appearance, so different from his ranger attire of perpetual sweat and musk and leather, and yet still he managed to snuff the very air from her lungs . He shone like a beacon, and she felt all her anxieties melt away under his loving gaze. Her blue eyes sparked a brilliant fire, and without words she joined him at his side, her hands reaching out delicately to weave her fingers with his own.

To the guests gathered for the historic joining, it was a thing of wonder. For some, it was a testament to the sheer determination and endurance of true love. Family and Friends of the lovers smiled gratefully, if not a little mournfully, for the culmination of this tragically sweet affair; but for one person in particular, it was a travesty to the sanctity of Gondor's throne.

At the far end of the mass, a small, thin dark haired woman with hard hazel eyes stood with her handsome but aging husband and her smiling daughter. The Lady Cilrinn huffed quietly as the King promised eternal love and devotion to the daughter of Elrond Half-Elven. The older woman sneered throughout the ceremony, careful to remain silent for fear of the sure retribution she would incur for her malcontent. She tossed a carefully masked glance of interest in her family's general direction.

Her husband Belredd wore a wide grin, the skin around his green eyes crinkled with merriment. Her daughter Belrinn clapped with the throng, excited to be a part of such an important event, her thin pink lips curved into an innocent smile. Celrinn cruelly marveled at her young daughter's apparent lack of loss; 'but than again', she thought with a touch of cynical humor, 'she has her father's ambition.' As the cheering continued and grew in volume, she tossed a bitter glance once more at the lovely elf Queen as she was swept into the King's arms for a passionate kiss to seal their union.

Lady Celrinn's family had been intertwined with the Stewards of Gondor for centuries. When word had spread throughout Gondor of an heir for the long abandoned throne, exciting tremors of anticipation had coursed through the veins of the fiercely proud Celrinn. She could barely contain herself as she filled her daughter's ear with stories of past queens and the importance of such a role, eager to inspire in her daughter a sense of destiny, a desire to perhaps ensnare this new monarch when he finally showed up and attain a position of prestige and wealth for her already renowned family.

Aragorn's appearance in Gondor had prompted all the pomp and circumstance Celrinn had imagined, especially following the defeat of Sauron and his forces at the hands of this Northman, this Dunadan king with the handsome face and crystalline eyes. In the weeks it took to establish a court for the former ranger, she had involved herself vigorously to get Lord Elessar's attention. She had dragged her daughter, barely into her first year of womanhood, along with her in attempts to catch the king's weary eye. The appearance of Arwen Undomiel at the king's coronation one month following his arrival in Minas Tirith had seriously thwarted her plans, and with the announcement of their wedding, Lady Celrinn had gone into a period of self-involved mourning so strong her husband had felt it better to just leave her be 'til after the wedding.

It did not take long for her sense of rejection to boil over into a pervading sense of hate for the lithe and lovely elf. At the betrothal feast, she had painstakingly spread rumors concerning the future queen. She did her best to portray the Evenstar as a manipulative vixen bent upon squiring the throne of men away from Isildur's heir. It had worked for a time, and several nobles believed the salacious gossip, much to her delight. Some errant fool had even criticized the elf outright, naming her a whore before the entire crowd. Celrinn would never have been so bold, as she preferred to do all her dirty work in a discreet manner more becoming of a lady, but still, she was pleased.

It bothered her to no end that her daughter had not recognized the great prize she had lost to the lady of Rivendell. When she had brought the matter up with the girl on the night of the feast, Belrinn's face had held no sense of regret nor any sign of sadness. Instead she wore a dreamy expression and spoke of the endearing love her King expressed for the beautiful maiden with the pointed ears. Ever one to indulge his daughter, her husband Belredd had filled her head with the notion of her own one true love as he spun the thin maid about the stone floors of their home in a courtly dance. Celrinn had rubbed her temples as she ignored the paternal display of affection. When Belrinn had retired for the evening and husband and wife lay together in bed, Belredd had held his wife in arms designed to bring out the softer side in his chosen. In resigned tones she spoke of their daughter's future, and her desire to see her well matched.

Belredd smiled and kissed the top of his wife's hair, and she rested her head upon his chest and listened to his heart beat and the steady sound of his soft snores reverberate beyond his ribs. When she was sure of his slumber, she had moved gently from the bed and moved to stand before the window. She stared at the white palace above in the highest level of the citadel and felt a new wave of anger surge through her at the thought of Arwen Undomiel sleeping in that elegant fortress. For two days her husband had pleaded with her to attend the wedding, and it was only out of her love for her husband that she agreed on the morning of.

Now here she stood, surrounded by those no longer under the allusions and net of gossip she had so carefully woven days before. She watched as one after another, nobles, elves, and even four small hobbits tossed blossom petals into the air over the heads of the passing newlyweds. Her husband wrapped a strong arm about her, and she reluctantly clapped with the others.


	5. A Brief Respite for Love

Disclaimer: I don't own these Characters. I just play in their world.

The Queen of Gondor sat quietly upon the windowsill, watching her husband spar with Faramir below in the garden. She smiled as the muscles in his back flexed and stretched with the exertion of his movements. The two men were truly a sight to behold, each well schooled in the ways of the sword. Long years spent as rangers had seen to that. From her vantage point she could hear their grunting and shouting as they swung their swords above their heads, the harsh 'clink' of metal hitting metal splitting the quiet of the early afternoon calm.

It had been two days since Aragorn had taken her to wife, and with a private smile to acknowledge the slight ache lingering between her thighs, it had been a wonderful forty eight hours. For the first time since entering their chambers two days before, Aragorn had ventured away from their marital bed this morning, having agreed to Faramir's request for a meeting, and though it had originally been a conversation pertaining to the rapid progression of repairs along the outer walls of the citadel, it had quickly become a sparring challenge between the two men.

Arwen glanced at the forgotten book in her hand and glanced once more down at the sight playing out before her. A sudden movement from the rose bushes drew the elf's attention, and she smiled when she noticed Lady Eowyn sitting among the pink blooms. The young woman was set to marry Faramir in two months time, and though she was very quiet and a tad morose, Arwen had immediately taken to the young shieldmaiden. They had shared many laughs two nights before at the wedding feast, and Arwen hoped that she had found a friend in the white lady after such an uncertain start among her husband's court.

She rose to travel down the long stone corridor, straightening the emerald green silk of her gown. She smiled as she passed by curtseying servants and bowing palace officials, feeling a growing sense of confidence as she went. As she rounded a corner with a bounce in her step, she ran right straight into the elegant shoulder of her father.

Elrond rounded immediately to steady his daughter. She smiled sheepishly as she meet his eyes with an apologetic air. "Forgive me, Ada. I was rushing. I did not see you."

His eyes softened and the concern vanished. He studied his daughter's face, the dark raven curls of her hair, and the way her eyes danced and her full lips issued a shy smile. There were times when her mannerisms reminded him so much of his dear wife that it hurt his heart to breathe. _Soon_, he thought. _Soon enough I will see my Celebrian. But for now, I still have my Undomiel._

"How is my daughter this morning? I have not seen you in two days time. Could it be that your husband has allowed you out of his sight after pledging to protect you at all costs?" He grinned mischievously. "It is not wise to let you of all beings roam this palace unsupervised."

Arwen rolled her eyes. "I burn the curtains in the great hall once as a child and you hold it against me forever."

_Not forever, my little one_, he thought sadly. _We no longer have that luxury_. He shook the wave of grief away and kissed his daughter on the forehead as he turned to leave. "You were 900 years old, Arwen. Far from a child."

"I was 889!"

His only response was a wave over his shoulder. She smiled tenderly at her father's retreating back and sighed. "It will not be long", she whispered to the air, a twinge of sadness running through her own system as she thoughts of her mother and her father's eagerness. "You will see her soon, Ada."

"Do you concede?"

Faramir stared at the tip of Anduril, the sharp edge flashing in the sunlight. He lay on his back, having been inelegantly tossed over Aragorn's shoulder during their last round.

"I don't really see much of a choice." He propped himself up on his shoulders and bent his head in submission. Aragorn lowered the sword and offered his friend a hand. The Steward accepted the gesture and rose to his feet with the aid of the king, brushing grass and dirt from his white tunic and the two exchanged amused smiles and talk.

"I can accept that you are better than me at swordplay, but could you at least have pretended to be losing in front of my intended? Couldn't you make me look…well, good?" Faramir joked as Eowyn laughed. He lowered himself back down to the ground to rest his head in her lap, and the blonde maiden bent her head to place a kiss upon his sweaty brow.

"I could have, but than my own wife would wonder how a ranger from Ithilien managed to defeat a ranger taught by her own people." Aragorn grinned as he wiped the sweat from his own brow with the blue cotton of his own discarded tunic. His ranger training suddenly alerted him to a pair of eyes upon his own skin, and he turned to see his wife pass under the stone trellis and enter the wide garden. He smiled widely, and dropped his sword and sweat covered tunic. He quickly crossed the distance between himself and Arwen and wrapped his well-muscled arms around her waist.

Arwen giggled the rare giggle he remembered from their earliest days, when their love was uncertain and indulged in during rare moments of secrecy. His heart swelled and he bent to press a soft lingering kiss upon her smooth lips. When they broke apart, Arwen sighed softly as she touched her forehead to his.

"I see you are well this morning, Meleth."

He nodded and grunted a reply before once more seeking her lips with his own. This kiss was deeper, one she was quickly recognizing as a prelude to more pleasurable activities. A warmth began to spread throughout her center, and she felt a tremor of excitement course through her body. She moaned softly into her husband's mouth as she wrapped her arms about his neck and shoulders and deepened the kiss with her tongue.

A muffled cough broke them apart, and the lovers turned to smile apologetically to their friends. Eowyn wore a blushing smile, and Faramir clasped her hand in his own. "We'll leave the two of you be now." They moved to leave but Aragorn raised a hand.

"Please, do not leave on our account. I promise, on my word as King, I shall endeavor to keep my hands to myself. And no more kissing."

Farmir shook his head. "You are married. You two need some time alone." He smiled a small evil grin at Aragorn as he nodded towards Arwen. "After all, you can't plant an heir in her belly if you've got constant company." Eowyn's jaw dropped and a delicate hand flew to her mouth to stifle the gasp and following laugh while her betrothed led her away. As quick as could be, the two were gone.

Aragorn turned back to his wife, and drew her more tightly against his chest. Arwen jokingly pushed against his sweaty chest with her hands.

"Estel, you're filthy! The sweat is running down you!"

A sly glint flashed in his eyes as he leaned in to nibble on her pointed ear. "You did not mind the sweat last night, my love" he whispered teasingly. She closed her eyes in a move of surrender and ran her fingers through his dark hair. She leaned into his embrace and sighed against the skin of his neck. When her husband's hands began to roam the soft curve of her hip and buttocks, she pulled away in an excited flush.

"Should we perhaps venture somewhere a bit more private, Melda?" She cast anxious eyes about, the sapphire orbs dark with arousal and desire. Aragorn followed her gaze to the outer walls and their position, open to all who might pass by and peer into the garden. He smiled. "I think that would be wise, wife." He took her hand and led her to a small clearing beneath low hanging willows. Arwen found herself pressed against a thick tree trunk, her husband's incessant hands lifting her to settle himself between her thighs.

She leaned away from his seeking mouth. "We'll be caught by the guards."

He bent his head again to whisper before kissing her, "How fun for them."

Lady Celrinn and her daughter Belrinn sat among the other noblewomen in the library of the palace. They spoke of the king's wedding and the beauty of the queen. Celrinn listened dispassionately as even her own daughter joined the conversation.

"But it is romantic, isn't it? Giving up your very life for the man you love? Lady Arwen must have a very pure heart, to be so willing to sacrifice all for his majesty."

Some of the older women laughed. Lady Tylirn chuckled, the skin beneath her chin wobbling as she did so.

"Perhaps she does have a pure heart, Belrinn dear, or perhaps she knows something about the king that we do not. Such a masculine man, that one is. I would wager he's a lover of prolific heights." She winked saucily, and soon the women were discussing men in a manner quite unknown to the young Belrinn.

"Enough of this! Why are you placing that elf on a pedestal when you should be angry with her?" Celrinn cracked her knuckles, the massive rings on her thin fingers catching the light in the deep red and green stones.

"Celrinn, please. When are you going to stop cursing that lovely creature? Have you spoken to her. The queen is a most agreeable person."

"Truly. She has made the effort to know all members of the court. And she's so wise."

"It is apparent that she makes the king happy. I think she will be a marvelous queen."

Celrinn stared at her opposition, her hazel eyes hardening and her mouth set in a pursed line of aggravation. She quickly pushed herself up from her seat. She favored her friends and daughter with a hard look of betrayal.

"I am saddened to see that she has ensnared you all son easily in her web of deceit. I do not wish to be a part of this. Good day, madams." With that she swung about and headed for the door.

"Mother, please! Don't go."

"Let her go, child. It is not right for her to be so obstinate."

The sounds faded as Celrinn continued down the corridor. She walked with a determined stride, frustrated that Arwen had somehow managed to win the ladies and men of the court over so well. She wrung her hands, turning the skin red with her vigorous rubbing.

So imbedded in her thoughts was she, that she did not notice the king and queen walking towards her. Her head down and her fists clenched, she ran smack into the king's wide chest. She toppled backwards and fell to the ground, landing roughly with a grunt.

She looked up, her eyes angry, but when she stared into the concerned eyes of the king, she softened slightly and smiled. "Forgive me, my Lord. I must not have been paying attention." Aragorn leaned down and wrapped his hand around her upper arm to help her to her feet. She straightened and ran a smoothing hand down the front of her dress.

Aragorn helped her to steady herself before removing his hand. "Are you alright, Lady Celrinn?"

She nodded, finally setting her eyes upon the queen. She nodded in a brief allusion to respect, and drew herself up to her full height. Arwen smiled at the older woman, reaching out to lay a cool slender hand upon her shoulder.

"How are you this day, Celrinn? I trust you are well?"

Celrinn smiled tightly as she answered., a steely coldness to her voice. " I am well, my lady. How are you faring? Is our fair city to your liking?"

Arwen's smile faltered at the unfriendly tone, but she nodded her head as Aragorn took her hand in his own. "I am enjoying myself very much, thank you. How is your family? I did not get to see your lovely daughter and husband at the feast. They too, are well?"

"Yes, majesty. All are well." Celrinn's voice held a noticeable tinge of annoyance, and Arwen forced down her feelings of hurt and wounded pride.

Celrinn turned back to Aragorn. "I'm afraid I must leave now. I wish you a pleasant day." With that she turned on her heel and continued down the corridor.

"Meleth-", Aragorn began.

Arwen's eyes settled on Celrinn's distant back. "I believe I have found the source of the rumors, Estel." She turned back to her husband, a sad expression painting her beautiful features. "She hates me."

Aragorn raised her hand to his lips and kissed the velvety skin. "Arwen, one can never make everyone happy. Lady Celrinn has a heart somewhere beneath that iron façade, I am sure. Perhaps she will simply need to know you better than she thinks she does." He kissed his wife's nose lightly. "No one can know you for very long before falling hopelessly in love with you."

She smiled and kissed her husband.


	6. The Lingering Shadows That Remain

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I just play in their world.

The city of Minas Tirith was nothing more than a small gleaming beacon from the tops of the dark mountains of Mordor. The white walls of the citadel shone brilliantly in the high sun, and from his vantage point, the orc could almost see the repairs being done to the walls if he squinted. Behind him, legions of remaining orcs waited for the signal to attack.

In the few short months since the ending of the war of the ring, Mordor's forces had been hunted down and destroyed by the armies of Gondor and Rohan. Sauron's presence no longer haunted the land of shadow, but his loyal soldiers were bent upon exacting revenge upon the peoples of Gondor for the fall of their master.

At the base of the mountains, the town of Osgiliath sat perched upon the Anduin. Though his comrades had tried and failed to seize the city permanently, the scarred and disfigured orc Morg had every intention of capturing the city once and for all.

The orcs waited patiently until night descended upon the Pelannor. With a raised hand, he signaled to his minions, who, with a silence unnatural for orcs, crept down the mountains and into the valley below. When they came to the edge of the river, they slipped onto wooden planks laced together to form makeshift rafts. They crossed the river under the cover of darkness, and when they landed along the other side of the riverbank, they stole away from the river and along the same route their predecessors had taken mere months before.

This close, Morg could see the lighted torches along the paths of Osgiliath. He could see the faint outlines of guards and sentrys, and with an uprised hand, he signaled to halt. The legions stopped, their only sound a slight clinking of armor and the occasional heavy grunt. Morg turned to quietly address his fighters in a rough gravely voice.

"Leave no one alive. Kill the children and the mothers. It is time for Mordor's revenge." He raised his own sword, and turned to run at full speed towards the ravaged city, giving a mighty battle cry.

The other followed.

Celrinn entered the room and her husband glanced up from his desk curiously. He watched as she poured herself a glass of wine and sipped at it half-heartedly. She moved to sit in the chair beside his stone desk, and he released the parchment he was reading.

"You seem upset, dear."

She fixed her husband with a sharp look, warning him without words. He took one of her hands in his and kissed it. Her hard eyes took on a more feminine look as she watched the loving gesture. It was only with her husband that she could once more be the young carefree woman she had been in her youth. He was the only one capable of bringing out the loving woman she had hidden deep inside her ambitious exterior.

"They have accepted her. I have lost."

Belredd sighed. "You have lost nothing, my sweet. In fact, you had nothing to ever gain." She looked at him, a hurt expression marring her features.

"Our daughter could have been queen. She was bred for a good marriage. There is no hope for her, now." Celrinn rubbed her eyes roughly. "I have failed as her mother."

Belredd rose from his seat to stand before his wife. "You have not failed. Belrinn was raised well, maybe even better than others. You have been a wonderful mother, Celrinn. But it was not for our daughter to be queen. She will marry well, you will see. She is beautiful and good-natured, kind to a fault. You should hear some of the things the young noblemen of this city say of our little one." He placed a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder. "She will be well-matched, but she will never be a queen."

A tear slid down Celrinn's cheek.

Belredd smiled wistfully. "Besides, wife, would you seal our daughter's hand in marriage to a man she did not love? What would you have felt if your father had forced you into wedlock with another?" He kneeled before her, her hands in his.

She smiled fully now, the reincarnation of the love struck girl she had been years before. She met her husband's eyes. "I would have been miserable. Luckily for me, you were of a better family."

Belredd smiled as he kissed her knuckles. "No, love. It was lucky for me that you were a beautiful young thing, and my foolish father approved the match based solely on that."

She stood and embraced her husband. He kissed her hair and held her close.

"However, love, perhaps you should accept the queen."

She pulled away and looked into his eyes.

"I shall try."

He grinned. "Than that is enough."

Aragorn sat at his desk, his tired eyes struggling to focus in the dim candlelight. He lifted the quill and signed another parchment, noting the ink stains marring his calloused fingertips. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms and legs, wincing as he heard joint crack.

"I do believe it's time for sleep", he murmured. He stood and rolled his neck, sighing. He walked to the door, but as he reached to open it, it swung open and Faramir raced in with Legolas and Gimli, their expressions grim and angry.

Aragorn immediately noticed the panic movements of the Steward, and his instincts told him nothing good could come of this intrusion.

"What is the matter? Something has happened." He stared at Faramir, barely noticing the arrival of Elrond, Gandalf and the four hobbits.

"We are under attack. Osgiliath has been seized upon by at least 500 hundred orcs. They are slaughtering all they encounter."

Elrond's eyes narrowed. He turned to his foster son. "They are bent on revenge. They will not let Sauron's defeat go unavenged." He turned to Aragorn. "You must stop them, Estel, or the people of Osgiliath will be killed and Minas Tirith subject to another threat."

Aragorn nodded, grabbing Anduril from its place by his desk. He strapped the sword about his hips as he fled the room, followed by the others. The guards along the corridors stood to attention as he ran past, and when Aragorn came upon the captain of the guard, he grabbed the man's arm.

"Alert your men, captain. Gondor is under attack. Round them and meet me in ten minutes. We ride for Osgiliath."

Wide eyed, the captain nodded, and set about gathering all the guards he could.

Aragorn raced to his chambers, Legolas and the others right behind. He burst through the doors and headed straight for his wardrobe. Pulling the metal chest plate from its drawer he immediately set about attaching it to his tunic. Frodo, Sam, Pippen and Merry set about gathering Aragorn's other bits of armor, laying it upon the table for the king to grab as he went.

Arwen, Eowyn and Galadriel entered the room, Arwen's eyes hazy with confusion as she spied her father and friends standing in the middle of the bedchamber she shared with her husband.

"What is going on? Estel, why are you…" She did not finish her sentence as the captain of the guard entered the room.

"I have gathered 200 palace guards, your majesty, and another 600 men await us at the gates of the citadel." The man's face was red and sweaty, and a pang of panic rushed through Arwen's heart.

Eowyn, sensing the danger, crossed the room and embraced Faramir, hugging him tightly as he spoke softly in her ear. Arwen cast a nervous glance at her grandmother, but Galadriel's face was a mask of indiscernible emotion. She looked back once more at her husband, taking in the sight of him in his battle armor, and her throat constricted.

"Estel!" Her voice rose above the voices of the men, and the fright in her voice caused her husband's head to snap up from his dressing. He held her eyes and felt his heart break at the fear and confusion he saw there. He crossed the room in three long strides and pulled her tightly against his chest. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her quickly and hard. Her heart beat furiously against his chest, and he looked into her eyes deeply.

"I must leave you now, Meleth. Osgiliath is under attack, and I must lead my men against the forces of Mordor. You will be well protected here, love." He kissed her once more on the forehead and released her. He cast one final look at his wife and rushed from the room with the others. Arwen ran after him, the captain of the guard at her heels.

"Let me fight with you, Estel! Estel! Wait!" She lifted the hem of her gown and raced down the hall after her husband. "Aragorn!"

He swung around and grabbed her with his strong hands before she pummeled his back. "Arwen, please. Stay here. I could not fight if I knew you were in danger." He released her and she stood immobile, her eyes sparkling with tears. He sighed and pressed his forehead against her own.

"I will return to you, Arwen", he whispered. "Nothing will keep me from you." He kissed her deeply, stealing her breath. For a lingering moment nothing existed but his lips and his breath and his mouth, and Arwen's eyes fell shut in a silent prayer to the Valar to return her beloved husband to her before morning's light. And then he was gone, and Arwen stood alone watching her husband leave her for battle.

Elrond came to stand beside his daughter, an arm wrapped tightly about her shoulders. He felt her shake with nervous tremors, and she rested her head upon his shoulder.

"So soon, Ada. It is too soon for him to be taken from me." Her voice was so quiet she was barely audible.

Elrond shut his eyes tightly against the worry in his own heart. Instead of answering his daughter, he simply held her closer.

Belredd stared out the window overlooking the street below. Celrinn had retired to bed only a few minutes before, and Belredd was considering joining her when the shout went up throughout the city, catching his attention.

"Osgiliath is under attack! All able-bodied men report to the gates of the citadel armed for battle! All men report! We are under attack!"

Belredd watched the guards racing through the city streets. He ran to his own bedchamber and threw his wardrobe open. Reaching inside, he drew out his armor and sword.

Celrinn sat up and watched in confusion as her husband readied himself. Staring at his armored torso, she pushed herself from the bed and rushed to his side.

"Belredd, what is happening? What are you doing?"

Belredd did not meet her eyes as he continued dressing. "The city is under attack, love. All men have been called to report. I must go." He strapped his sword to his back and put on his heavy leather gloves.

"Belredd, you cannot! You are far too old to join in the battle! Let the younger men fight!" Her voice rose in panic and fright, and she clutched at his arm. He wrapped his hand around her fingers and firmly moved them away from his arm. His dark eyes held a light of love, but she knew the look upon his face well. There was no stopping him when he was truly (though infrequently) inspired. He ran a finger down her cheek.

"It is not your place to forbid me from the battle, wife. I love you, but I will not be swayed. Please understand that. I am a man of Gondor. This is my duty."

With that he left the bedchamber. Celrinn followed him, pulling her robe tightly about her small frame. In the hall Belrinn stood quietly, staring out an open window. When she saw her parents, she snapped to attention.

"Papa, what is going on? I heard the call for the men. Who could be attacking us?"

Belredd paused to hug his daughter.

"See to your mother, Belrinn. She will need you now." He kissed his daughter's forehead and with one final look at his wife, he left.

The two women clung together, listening quietly to the sound of marching footsteps and clinking metal.

Brego galloped down the seven levels of the citadel, Aragorn perched upon his back, a stern and uneasy look upon his handsome face. Women and children bowed as he passed through the warm night air, awake and alerted to the danger just outide the walls of the city.

Men stood ready before the closed gates leading beyond the city. Their weapons drawn, they waited for their king anxiously.

Belredd sat upon his horse, listening to the sounds of the night. He gazed upwards, watching the stars twinkle in the inky black sky. A brilliant flash of light across the sky passed over his head, and with the passing of the shooting star, Belredd felt an uneasiness settle upon his shoulders. He looked behind him at the level above his head. From his position he could see the roof of his house, and he issued a silent prayer for his family.

The king appeared then, authoritative and impressive, followed by the blond elf and the dwarf, and the old wizard Belredd had seen at the king's wedding. Aragorn passed him by and acknowledged the older lord with a grateful nod of his head, and then the mighty gate opened and they raced from the safety of the citadel into the night and Osgiliath.


	7. Battle Shock

Disclaimer: I don't own these Characters. I just play in their world.

Morg watched as the approaching army of men neared Osgiliath. He sneered at the sight of the man king upon his horse, his arm uprised with his sword, the famed flame of the west, glittering in the soft moonlight.

The orcs rampaging the village heard the approaching din and snapped to attention. They readied themselves for the onslaught of Gondor's army. Bows were raised and arrows let fly, but the old wizard raised his staff and the arrows over passed the long line of soldiers. Morg hissed and raised his own sword, ready to leap from his position upon a balustrade and fight. He set his sights upon the king, quickly judging the distance between the man's horse and his own vantage point.

"Men, attack!" Aragorn's voice shattered the night. The hundreds of soldiers came at full force against the orcs. The sound of clashing swords and shouting filled the air. He quickly passed beyond the pillars of Osgiliath, failing to notice the orc hanging over the edge of a pillar. Morg leapt and landed with a thud upon Brego's back behind Aragorn.

Brego reared on his back legs, throwing the two from his back.

Aragorn fell and hit the ground with a heavy "oomph!" He regained his bearings quickly enough to see Morg's sword swing down at his head. He rolled quickly, missing the sharp blade. Pushing himself to his feet, he quickly drew his own sword and parlayed the orc's swing. He used his strength to bare down on the smaller orc, beating the hideous creature into submission as he knocked the sword from his deformed hand.

Morg threw one look down at his lost weapon and hissed at Aragorn as the man swung his sword down upon the evil creature. He would have struck, had he not been kicked in the back by a passing orc and knocked to his feet. Anduril fell from his hands and was quickly snatched up by Morg. The orc smiled triumphantly down at the fallen king, and raised the sword above his head to plunge it down into Aragorn's chest. Aragorn lunged but the blade struck his shoulder, tearing the tanned skin and drawing more blood than Aragorn knew was safe. For a moment the world spun, and his bright lights flashed behind his eyes. He cried out in pain and gripped his bleeding shoulder. He turned ferocious eyes upon the orc, and in horror he watched as the orc set about attacking the nearest man.

Belredd had raced towards the king, having seen the man fall from his horse and engage on combat with the orc. The older man swung his sword at the orc's back from high on his horse, but Morg had surprised him by turning in time to block the attack with Anduril. As Belredd passed, Morg grabbed his leg and pulled him from his saddle. Belredd landed with a grunt, his breath knocked away with the force of the fall. His eyes focused on the figure standing above him, and he watched in slowed vision as the orc slashed at his chest. He felt a burning surge of pain, and felt warmth trailing down his chest. He rose on his elbows and saw bright blood flowing from the wound.

He looked up one final time to see the orc slash at him again. Morg smiled in satisfaction as he once more sliced the human in the chest with the sword. The man gasped, and with a gurgled sound of pain, his eyes rolled into his head, and he fell back upon the ground, still and silent.

"NO!" Aragorn ran and knocked the orc off his feet. They both toppled over and Aragorn fell atop the creature. Morg, in his surprise, dropped Anduril, and Aragorn grabbed at it blindly, his fingers barely recognizing the hilt as he gripped it and plunged in to the chest of the orc. Morg's eyes went wide in a momentary look of shock, his leg twitching sporadically, and than the orc did not move.

"Chase them to the river!" Faramir's voice echoed across the fight. Aragorn spun around and rejoined the fray. He swung and hit every target. The cries of pain were defeaning, but Aragorn heard none of them. He focused on every orc in his vicinity, using his own anger as his catalyst, striking and killing as he went. He paused, breathing heavily as he watched Gondor's army chase the orcs to the riverbank.

Aragorn turned back to Belredd's fallen body. He lifted the man off the ground, the pavement stained red with the color of blood. His own shoulder ached and throbbed, and his head spun from the loss of blood, but Aragorn paid little mind to the pain. He whistled for Brego, and the horse suddenly appeared. He eased the dead man onto the saddle, climbing up behind him to secure the corpse of his courtier. He looked about with heavy eyes.

The bodies of men and orcs lay strewn about, the smell of blood heavy. The pale skin of the dead shone white in the moonlight, and Aragorn shivered. _It should not be like this_, he thought bitterly. _I thought we had stopped the fighting._

"Retreat! Fall back!"

"To the mountains!"

The sounds of defeated orcs called throughout the night air, and Aragorn watched impassively as they fled back to the mountains. Legolas appeared beside Brego, barely panting with the effort of his exertions. Gimli and Gandalf joined them, dirty and bloodied but well.

"We have pushed them back for now, but we mustn't leave this village unguarded again." Faramir panted as he stood before Aragorn. He cast one look at the bloodied body Aragorn supported upon Brego, and hung his head in sadness.

"The poor bastard. He was too old to fight. He should not have been here."

Aragorn shook his head. "Belredd did a great service. He died with honor. I will inform his family myself."

The remaining guards and soldiers gathered their fallen friends with a final glance back towards the mountains of shadow. It was a victorious but quiet journey back to the white city.

Celrinn paced anxiously along the balcony of the Houses of Healing. She gripped her arms, bruising her skin with her fingertips. The lines around her eyes seemed more prominent than usual, and her mouth set thin in a tight line. She pulled her heavy robe tighter about her. Within the recesses of the dark rooms, the wives and sisters of soldiers prepared for the return of their wounded husbands and brothers.

Arwen rushed about the rooms, searching for clean cloths and bowls, seeking out the items her father had instructed her to bring him. She brought him water from a well, and heated it above the small fire strewn about the rooms. She brought him Athelas and stood by his side as he mixed the plant with other herbal remedies. She wiped the sweat from her brow and pulled her long dark hair back away from her neck, securing it with a strip of discarded cloth.

She ventured away from her father and walked solemnly towards a open balcony, her eyes soft and void of the fire she normally retained. She pulled at the neckline of her bodice, a nervous habit she had always possessed, and one she could never bring herself to break. She sighed. A cough behind her drew her attention, and she realized that she was not alone. Celrinn stood along the rail of the balcony, shivering and silent, ignoring Arwen and keeping her eyes focused ahead.

Arwen stepped closer to the mortal woman. When Celrinn made no motion to speak to Arwen, Arwen placed a hand on her shoulder. "Madame, you should be inside. There is tea. I could get you a cup. It would help to relax you." Arwen's soft voice broke the still of the moment. Celrinn looked at the queen and shook her head.

"I will not relax until the men have returned. When death is an assurance, one cannot find calm." She moved away from Arwen, and Arwen's hand fell limply to her side. Her eyes shone with black with contempt and mocking. "But I would not expect you to know that. How can an immortal understand death?"

Celrinn's words hit Arwen with the force of ten horses. She stood speechless as the woman walked back into the House of Healing. Arwen was stunned, and found herself unable to believe her situation.

The sound of horse hooves and yelling broke her reverie. She leaned over the railing to see the return of her husband's men. She turned and ran back into the rooms, weaving around nurses and healers. Soldiers poured in, bloody and unconscious. She moved about quickly, tripping over discarded shields and swords, boots and helmets. Her long gown caught on the sharp edge of a table and tore. She bent to inspect the damage done but straightened immediately when a shrill scream cut through the air.

At the far end of the room she saw Aragorn and Faramir. They were standing away from the healing tables, Aragorn holding Celrinn in his arms as she screamed. Arwen made her way across the room, wondering what could have happened for Celrinn to be so upset. She stopped beside the woman, casting a glance at Aragorn. He did not notice her, his head turned to speak with Faramir while still supporting Celrinn's wriggling body. Arwen wrapped her arms around Celrinn's shoulders, whispering in elvish soothing words, but without warning Celrinn swung on her and smacked her hard across the cheek. Aragorn's head snapped around at the sound and his eyes narrowed in anger when he saw the bright red mark on his wife's cheek.

"Do not touch me, whore! I do not need or want your sympathy. What do you know of grief?" Celrinn's angry words reverberated throughout the House of Healing. She ran from Arwen, her angry sobs disappearing as she fled. Arwen rubbed her sore cheek, her eyes stinging with humiliated tears.

Aragorn reached out a hand to comfort his wife, but at the touch of his hand, she flinched and jerked away. "Melda, don't cry."

Arwen walked away from him, pushing her way through as quickly as she could. Aragorn hurried after her, concerned for his wife, calling for her. "Arwen, wait!" Arwen blindly ran, ignoring the cries of wounded men and the tears of new widows. She ran from one connected room to another. Then she came to a sudden halt, having found herself in a room she had never expected to see.

Long tables were spread throughout the room, and upon each surface a body was laid out, swords draped across their folded arms. Directly in front of her lay the body of Belredd, his lips blue, his skin waxy. Hesitantly, she reached out and touched his pale skin. It was cold, clammy, and she could see the thin blue line of his veins beneath the skin. The smell of death was everywhere, and she felt a knot in her stomach and the breath in her lungs hitch.

In her blind rush she had stumbled into the morgue, and it was more frightening than facing the nine wraiths had been. She choked, a sob escaping her. She had never seen death before. In all the long years of her life, she had been sheltered from this terrible finality by her father, her brothers, and her people. Death was not common among the elves, so it was of no surprise that Arwen had never encountered it. It was consuming. Arwen felt as though she were drowning.

Arwen felt her head spin, the torchlight of the room twirling about her. She felt woozy, and when she fainted Aragorn caught her.


	8. Forever was a Lie

Disclaimer: I don't own these Characters. I just play in their world.

Aragorn sat along the edge of the bed, absently running a finger over the bandage around his chest and shoulder. Though his wound still irritated him, the sensation was abated by Elrond's administration of Athelas. He looked over his shoulder at his wife, still unconscious and breathing softly. The sounds from the other rooms spilled into the tiny furnished room, though the oak door greatly reduced all noise, and Aragorn was able to find some semblence of peace away from the work of the healers.

Arwen stirred, and Aragorn turned about to run a soothing hand over her forehead. Slowly her blue eyes opened, and she looked about the room in confusion. She sat up quickly, Aragorn guiding her into a seating position. Her husband moved closer to her, wrapping an arm around her. She stared about the room before turning to her husband.

"What happened?"

Aragorn gave her a wry smile. "You fainted."

She shook her head, memories flooding back. "I'd never seen death before. It is a terrible thing." She shivered, shuddering violently. "It is all so cold. How can mortals stand knowing what awaits them at the end?" The knowledge of her own eminent demise hung heavily in her mind, but she would never voice that fear to Aragorn. Tears stung her eyes, and she felt wrenching sobs building within her.

He kissed her hair, burying his face in the satin curls. She turned in his embrace, snaking her arms around his waist and leaning into him. The sharp sparkle of the Evenstar pendent about his neck caught her eye, and a warm sense of comfort flooded her soul. Content and reassured, she tightened her embrace, but immediately pulled away when he hissed in pain.

"Estel? What's wrong?" She moved to kneel in front of him, her face contorted in panicked concern. Her hand flew to her mouth when she noticed the bandage about his upper torso. She tentatively touched his wounded shoulder, her eyes taking in the spreading red stain of blood marring the white cloth.

"What happened to you?"

"I was struck by a blade, but I am fine. Do not fret. It's only a flesh wound." He cupped her chin and whispered. "I had to keep my promise to return, afterall."

Her eyes shone with unshed tears and her chest heaved with a soft cry. Aragorn gently took her hand and brought it to his lips. When she did not meet his searching gaze he pulled her back to him, leaning back to pull her onto his lap. She allowed him to draw her near but did not speak, fearful that she would begin sobbing and be unable to stop.

Aragorn pressed her to speak. "How is your cheek?" He traced the bruise tainting the soft curve of her face. "No other shall ever strike you in such a manner." His eyes grew feral and dark in his pledge. "I will never allow it. I will have words with the widow Celrinn."

Arwen shook her head and opened her mouth to protest, but no words would escape her tight throat. She slumped her shoulders and lowered her head.

"Meleth, look at me", he urged gently. He lifted her chin in his hand and kissed her deeply, deciding he would speak to her through his affection if she would not answer his words. She returned the kiss but broke away too soon.

"I could have lost you tonight, Estel. I could be lost now without you." She looked him straight in the eye with an emotion Aragorn did not recognize but could only describe as desolation. He sighed, and took her hand in his.

She continued. "I was fortunate this night. But what happens when you do not return to me? That time will come, and I will lose all I have gained. I will be as Celrinn is someday, and my broken heart shall destroy me." Arwen's soft voice wavered, and Aragorn watched her strong spirit break and the tears stream down her face. She collapsed in his arms and he held her, allowing her to expel her sadness as upspilled tears brimmed his own eyes.

She cried for what seemed like hours, but was really only minutes. She lifted her head and rubbed the tears from her face, her cheeks red and her eyes dark. Aragorn studied her fair face, unable to offer any words of comfort, his own heart too heavy with emotion. He knew her fear all too well. He would die one day. Nothing could prevent that, and he would leave her alone until her own grief consumed her and she died, an end to the world of elves in Middle-Earth, nothing more than a memory to those who knew their tragic love story. He could only live for now, for this moment, to show Arwen how very alive he was, that she had not lost him yet, and to push away her fears if only for a little while.

He kissed her, silencing her and drawing her mind from all thoughts of death. She responded eagerly to his tongue, sighing as he ran his hands over her shoulders and down her back. She returned the kiss hungrily, grateful for her husband's safe return and his loving touch. Wrapping her arms around his neck she moaned into his mouth. His hands roamed her body, and she shifted her position in his lap, straddling him. He ran his fingertips down her thigh, over the silk material of her gown. When his hand drew the fabric away from her legs and over her knees and his hand snuck beneath the gown to grip her hip, she moved away from him just far enough to stretch her arms upwards so that he might draw the gown over her head.

When her gown had been discarded and her soft skin exposed, Aragorn placed his hands beneath her buttocks to lift her and rolled over, pinning his wife beneath him. He claimed her mouth once more while his hand slid down to cup her full breast. Arwen arched her back, giving her husband greater access to her body. She traced the outline of his muscles, placing her hand on the bandage.

"Your shoulder, love…."

"Will not stop me from making love to you." He smiled a boyish lopsided grin and reinforced the mood with a fervent kiss to her neck.

Arwen sighed as she smiled. She closed her eyes as Aragorn made love to her, thanking the Valar for answering her earlier prayers.

_It is too soon_, she thought. _I cannot lose him so soon. Our story cannot end in such a way. By the grace of Elbereth, Let there be no more fighting in our lifetime._

"I love you, Melda." He traced her clavicle absently and Arwen kissed him softly in reply.

He placed his rough skinned hand over her heart, his body stilling momentarily. "Forever, Indonya." She brushed his hair away from his eyes and she nodded, unable to speak, and it was a sweet moment before they once again began to move.

Soon she lost herself in his sweet endearments, the feel and depth of his thrusts, and his musky male scent, and all thoughts of loss faded away until nothing existed but her husband, their pleasure and sweet oblivion.

Celrinn sat silently at a small table with a warm mug of tea in her hand. Her eyes were swollen and red, and she felt ill from lack of sleep. Her daughter Belrinn rested in the room next door, her grief having absorbed all her energy. She had retired several hours ago, but not before pleading with her mother to seek rest as well. But Celrinn lingered, afraid to fall asleep, frightened that she would be plagued by nightmares of her dead husband.

Though she still remained in the House of Healing, Celrinn had sought out for her daughter and herself a remote location in the large stone building. Celrinn wanted to be as far from the ill as possible, both out of respect for the other widows and the work being done there, and a serious need to be as far from the king and queen as possible.

She truly had not meant to strike Arwen, but in her maddening situation, it had been all too easy to let loose on the one woman she resented most. The elf maid knew nothing of the pain of her loss. How dare she pretend to feel sympathy? Celrinn felt the bile rising in her throat once more. She took a sip of the cooling tea to wash away the bitter taste.

A knock upon the door startled her, and she placed the tea on the table before rising to open the door.

Her jaw dropped when she opened the door to her guest. The queen of Gondor stood in the hall, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, in her hands a small plate of cheeses and bread. Celrinn squared her shoulders.

"Can I help you, your majesty?"

Arwen tried a small smile. "I have brought you something to eat." She paused hesitantly. "May I come in, Celrinn?"

The woman moved after a moment, allowing a brief space for Arwen to pass her and enter the room. The queen placed the small tray on the table and sat down in an empty chair, her eyes circling the room, noting the small bed and fireplace. The small room had obviously been intended for solitary patients but served well as a room for visitors.

Celrinn shut the door and took a deep breath. She crossed to sit back down, lifting the mug of tea to her lips with a small hand, the other clenched in a tight fist upon the table, and she stared at the beautiful elf over the brim of the mug.

"I would offer you tea, M'lady, but there is none left."

Arwen waved her hand in dismissal, and in the firelight of the room, Celrinn noticed the bruise across the queen's cheek. A quick burst of satisfaction spiked in her heart, but it was quickly replaced by regret and fear of retribution. Surely the king would not take kindly to that mark.

The two women sat in silence. Arwen spoke first. "I wanted to see to your comfort, Celrinn. Do you need anything at all?" She moved to reach across the table and hold Celrinn's hand, but Celrinn withdrew it quickly.

"I am fine, highness." Her hasty reply was delivered in an icy tone, though she offered a superficial smile.

Arwen nodded. She looked at her hands, returned to clasp tightly in her lap, and looked once more at Celrinn. "Is there something I might see to for Belrinn? I will do what I can do for…"

Celrinn's patience snapped. "Do nothing, Arwen. I do not want anything from you. My daughter and I will be fine without assistance."

"I am only trying to help", Arwen interjected.

"Well, stop." Celrinn's eyes blazed with restraint anger. She slammed her mug on the table, the tea spilling over the sides and across the rough wood surface. She stood so quickly her chair toppled over and crashed to the floor. She rounded the table and stood before Arwen, leaning over the elf imposingly.

"I want nothing from you, elf. I only wish that you would leave me be! I am in no mood for pity or help, nor do I want visitors incapable of understanding what it is too lose the one person you have lived for!" She screamed now, her voice shrill and loud. "You do not know how I feel. You never will. You have lived lifetimes longer than most, and yet grief and pain are foreign feelings to you."

"I think I should leave." Arwen stood to leave.

"Please do."

Arwen passed Celrinn, but as she reached for the handle of the door, the older woman's voice called to her.

"Tell me Arwen, after you saw death for the first time, what was the first thing you did?"

Arwen turned to face the woman. "I beg your pardon?"

Celrinn smiled tightly. "When my father died, Belredd went with me to the silent street. We made love after, and my grief abated. That was the night we conceived Belrinn." Her eyes took on a faraway look.

"Celrinn, I…"Arwen began.

"Tell me Arwen, did your husband offer you the same comfort? Did he lie between your thighs and promise eternity?" She leaned forward, her voice a low whisper. Arwen felt a shiver go down her spine.

"If he did, he lied."

Arwen turned and fled the room.


End file.
